Storm blue paper and colored pens (1 Kaiakhin of Poràkol 1865)

Indicator lights from computer equipment bathed Likua’s face in surreal blue and green light. This afternoon, he had drawn the great shades over the apartment’s balcony doors. Slowly, he reached for a dry eyes solvent and reared his head back to administer it. With his other hand, he unmuted the communication channel and rerouted my image to one of the wall panels. Suddenly, there was light; he sat back up and rotated his shoulders for a few moments. I turned on my feed recorder. Sorry about that, he said quickly. His voice sounded slightly tense. Clients, of course, have priority.

The way Likua said client made me think of short action-adventure films and ghostly secret lairs like the ones the nuamë nuaf iča is rumored to have. His face softened from the calculating and expressionless stranger I found on first ringing to the Likua I knew: kind-eyed, docile, and harmless. There has been chatter in some circles since we last spoke. He dimmed his video feed and began typing. Some of my contacts have noted increased chatter in the Daybreak Movement recently, not just in Shija province but in Narahja and Iturja as well. No word yet from Nasja. We’re developing an infiltration strategy.

We? I thought that you worked alone. Our eyes locked and I knew he thought he had screwed up. Sometimes I had the exact same facial expression at work.

Someone considers me one of his employees, as it were. Likua frowned. I don’t always do what he wants me to, so hopefully he has gotten the message that I’m not particularly thrilled with his recent attention.

So that was him on audio? I took off my shoes and gyena, moving into a more comfortable position on my bed. He barely looked up from his computer. Someone had messaged him, and he looked slightly irate.

Likua sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. ~~(And this reminds me: I need more shampoo and soap …)~~ Yes, and now this is him on chat … I’m not entirely sure that this is a good time to have a discussion, Salus.

Just tell me more about what your contacts have found and I will leave you to reason with that man.In the kitchen, Nurannyi turned on her music and started to sing along. It terrifies me to think that we are becoming acquainted enough for her to do that without feeling mildly embarrassed. (I hate to say it, but her family’s musical talent must have skipped her.) What is the chatter like?

He paused again, behaving as though he could hear something that I … couldn’t … and his face looked as though it struggled to keep itself happy and familiar. Something about the news must have disturbed him, or perhaps Likua was more intimately involved in what was happening than I had thought. How much do you know about the Daybreak Movement?

Only what we learned in school. I have plans to do some research in the library later this week because I don’t want those online searches tied to my account.

A very wise decision. He licked his lips and turned to the computer to type something. Bytes traveled almost instantaneously to someone I didn’t—and couldn’t—know, someone possibly involved just as much as Likua. The Daybreak Movement operates somewhat differently from other political groups. They don’t keep much of their information in easy-to-find locations. You keep transcripts of audiovisual data, make voice recordings—don’t snicker, this is actually somewhat important—and your journal is made of smart paper. If someone really wanted to and they were either really influential or really good at hacking, they could acquire copies of all of these things. Members of the Daybreak Movement … prefer to meet in person because they don’t want voice recordings. They covered their mouths on that security feed from the skyrail train, for example. They also use old-fashioned paper because it’s more perishable and secure.

I thought for a moment about Aneti’s workstation. While I kept my journal out on my desk, password-locked, and some personal items, she kept very little that would acquaint others with her personality—not even a copy of Impermanence. At our lunch break yesterday, I did walk with her to one of the stationary shops on a back street close to the political buildings. While she looked at the selections of stormy blue paper for her selections, I spent my time staring at the inserts for smart paper: audio stickers like the ones Suka had given me, image slide show inserts, and colorizing pens. And I did need coloring pens to replace some of mine that had run out.

Aneti snickered at my choice and murmured something about how unsophisticated smart paper was when you could get the same effects from classic—and that must have been the key, unless I remembered this falsely, but the pens I bought are sitting on my desk. So, you’re about to tell me that this makes them incredibly difficult to spy on, I continued for Likua. That you are hearing anything at all from them must mean something significant.

Exactly. I’ll type something up and send it up to you … I don’t think it should go through the regular post, so this might take a few more days than it would otherwise. I would tell you now, but … He looked back at his monitor and sighed. I really need to sort this out.

I understand … you have work.

Thanks, Salus. Sorry about the interruption. I’ll make it up to you.

When he cut me off, I sat for about thirty seconds in complete denial of what had just happened. Likua has never cut me off before; he is more likely to make things awkward or compromise himself by wanting to talk to me too much, saying too many things about his work—but never this. I almost thought about calling Suka, but I decided against it because I know her job has taken her out of town today and I don’t want to catch her on a train. I wanted to draw something pretty in my journal and brainstorm ways to find some of the elusive information Likua had mentioned. He has been very helpful to me with everything, but if anything, the conversation this evening has taught me that I need to learn how to work independently if I want to learn what Aneti is hiding.